


Rosebud

by sunlightsymphony



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sledding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 21:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlightsymphony/pseuds/sunlightsymphony
Summary: Patrick acquires a toboggan. Matters escalate from there.





	Rosebud

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver) collection. 

> **Prompt:**  

> 
> Snow day in Schitt’s Creek. Patrick takes David sledding, but somebody gets hurt. Hurt/comfort. Please don’t hurt them too badly. We saw what a simple thorn did to Patrick. 
> 
> Bonus points if Stevie goes sledding too and is the only logical one when somebody gets hurt.

For David, the journey to the top of a steep, snow-covered hill begins with a single impulse.

In his New York days, he and various therapists had visualized a healthy relationship like a ladder, with each rung representing a romantic milestone. Couples climbed up this ladder together at a clinically-sanctioned pace. Eventually, they reached the top and gazed down smugly upon those less-fortunate in love. He’d never considered what happened after that, besides the inevitable divorce or death; it had been pathetically irrelevant.

Rom-coms and therapeutic models hadn’t come close to preparing him for Patrick. From the day they’d met, things between them had been utterly new, without a trace of imitation or artifice. And David had felt more like an untethered balloon than a – handyman, or whoever else actually climbed ladders. The fact that millions of couples had their own first-time stories did nothing to soften the thrill of calling Patrick his boyfriend, or the shock of hearing him say “I love you” for the first time.

Still, once they reached that advanced stage, David allowed himself to occasionally feel smug and settled (when he wasn’t panicking that their relationship could only crumble from here). He even felt moved to offer extra discounts to a few of the sadder-looking Singles Week participants. _Love really can change a person_, he thought. It was soothing that these sorts of trite romantic insights could cross his mind and feel halfway true. 

But he’s learning every day that there is no upper limit to loving someone. Sometimes a wave of it will unexpectedly catch him up and carry him high, high, terrifyingly higher than ever before, with nothing but clouds beneath his feet. It doesn’t even always feel like love, at first.

On Christmas Eve, when Patrick casually expresses the wish to spend Christmas with his family, it’s the first time he’s spoken about them since they started dating. David wondered about that silence sometimes, but he never dared to bring them up on his own – not wanting to rock the boat and potentially dredge up terrible memories for Patrick. But maybe, he realizes, those memories aren’t so terrible. He’s seized with an intense, inexplicable urge to find out.

On Christmas morning he asks hesitantly, “What were the holidays like for you? Growing up?”

“Time ’sit?” Patrick mumbles through a face full of pillow.

In fact, it’s ungodly early and David didn’t think that Patrick was awake to hear him. He says, “Nevermind,” and pets a hand slowly down his back until Patrick drifts back to sleep.

So that goes well.

David doesn’t raise the topic so blatantly again, but he tries to drop hints when it comes up organically. Patrick deflects him with humor or brief, bland responses: “Yes, David, my mother was a circus performer in her twenties” or “My dad really loves… tinkering with his RRSP investments.”

One day near the end of January, Patrick blows into the store accompanied by the fragrant aroma of curry. David’s head whips up from the face creams he was dusting, which is how he catches Patrick’s gaze lingering on the window display of winter outerwear and accessories.

David is instantly on alert. In nine months of working together, Patrick has rarely shown more than a businesslike interest in any of the store’s products. They’re like little bundles of money to him; his mind is on how many, how much, and how quickly they’re moving off the shelves.

Patrick, meanwhile, has stamped the snow off his boots and set their lunch down on the counter. “Hey,” he says, stepping into David’s space to steal an icy kiss, “I picked up something special in Elmdale.”

“Mmm,” says David. “I hope it wasn’t supposed to be a surprise? Because I can detect chicken tikka masala from a mile away.” He presses his fingertips to Patrick’s lips to warm them up and keep him quiet while he figures out his approach. He feels Patrick’s mouth make an upside-down grin. Then it scrunches into a kiss. David scrunches his face up at Patrick, his heart giving a happy thump. Ugh, this gambit isn’t getting him anywhere. He’ll bring it up later; it will seem more natural.

But he doesn’t have to, it turns out. “I was thinking about that display,” Patrick says after lunch, indicating it with a swing of his arm.

“Oh,” David says, “yes?”

“Well, they’re obviously seasonal items, and some of them are at a high price-point for this market. That made sense when people were doing their holiday shopping, but now I’m not sure we’re going to be able to move them.”

All business; David doesn’t buy it for a second. “The season of winter has two more months left in it, Patrick.”

“Technically yes, but with global warming –”

“I see your point, though,” David interrupts. “That last toboggan in particular – I’ve talked it up to four people just today, and no one is biting. Maybe we should think about sending it back to the vendor.”

“Huh, I’m not sure that’s our best move,” Patrick says, jamming his hands so far into his pockets that David fears for their seams. “What if we reduced the price instead? The mark-up wasn’t huge to begin with, but it might be better to break even and keep the vendor happy. The others went like hotcakes, and we want to make sure that they’ll work with us again next year. Don’t you think?”

David pretends to hem and haw about the optics of “de-valuing” their merchandise, before abruptly giving in. He can’t fault Patrick’s taste – from the elegant curve of its hardwood slats to its deep red cushion, the toboggan has a rustic beauty. And Patrick is so sporty, he thinks with fond bafflement. Of all their wares, naturally it’s a piece of _athletic equipment_ that piqued his interest.

The next time Patrick works the store alone, the sled mysteriously vanishes. “Looks like your idea worked!” David says brightly, rearranging the pile of mittens that were once its passengers.

“Yep,” Patrick says from behind the counter, “and it’s paid in full.” Reflected in his wide-eyed gaze, David sees every wedge of cheese and bottle of lotion his family has ever walked off with.

“But is it really a sounder business decision,” he muses, “to purchase a high-end flagship item that you yourself marked down, than to allow a few loyal customers to occasionally sample our mid-range products at full price?”

“Yep,” Patrick says again. “I barely marked it down – the original price was just slightly over my monthly budget.”

“I didn’t know you kept such a generous budget.” The toboggan was over _two hundred dollars_.

“I had to cut into my discretionary funds for the next few months to make it work,” Patrick admits. “But I think it’ll be worth it. And I’m not sure I’d call a seasonal item ‘flagship’ –”

Their bickering is gaining steam when the bell chimes and Stevie saunters in.

“Ooh, this is awkward,” she says, making a show of raising her hands in front of her. “Should I leave you two alone?”

“Patrick spent his date-money on a toboggan!” David announces.

“Holy shit. Who are you, Bill Gates?”

“I thought it would be something different to do,” Patrick says with a shrug. “There isn’t much going on around here in the winter. And it reminded me of the sled I had as a kid.”

David shares a look with Stevie, who’s already settled into her customary slouch near the register. “Mmmmm,” he says, resting his chin on his hands, “that sounds fun. What did you do, with the sled?”

“What do you think, David?” Patrick laughs. “I guess when I was really little, my parents would tow me around the backyard. But mostly I used it for sledding.”

The mere implication of a tiny Patrick bundled up in a snowsuit makes David want to squeeze his eyes shut in delight. That’s probably not normal. “How should I know?” he says instead. “Not all of us were brought up sliding down hills for entertainment.”

“Speak for yourself,” Stevie drawls. “Sometimes I’d skip class to smoke pot and go sledding on stolen lunch trays out behind the high school.”

“That is – bizarre and deeply sad,” David says.

“I grew up in _Schitt’s Creek_, remember?”

“I once got my front teeth knocked out in a sledding contest with my cousin Megan,” Patrick puts in.

“Eww, don’t try to one-up each other with disgusting stories!” David protests, but to no avail. The conversation devolves into small-town adolescent foolishness, with nothing cute about it at all. He’s glad when a real customer enters and cuts them off.

***

In karmic retribution for Patrick’s duplicity (or so David likes to think), temperatures rise that week and most of the snow on the ground melts. But it doesn’t take long for a blizzard to appear in the forecast.

David never dreamed that he’d look forward to such an event. He detests the cold, and snow in New York City is a filthy, slushy nuisance at best. But he keeps thinking about little Patrick on his sled. Meanwhile, with business in a post-holiday lull and baseball in the off-season, fully-grown Patrick is going stir-crazy. He tries to go hiking alone at one point, and is only dissuaded by David’s repeated fretting that he’ll slip and tumble into a ravine, never to be found. He’s even been helping Stevie clean the motel rooms sometimes. _For free._ David’s not sure why he ever wanted them to be friends.

So David has multiple reasons for sidling up to Patrick in Ray’s kitchen and saying, “I see that expensive toboggan is gathering dust. Don’t you have any plans for it?”

It turns out that Patrick is planning to ask Stevie to go sledding with him. He’s first dismissive, then skeptical of David’s interest – which David should probably take as a compliment, but which annoys him because it interferes with his plans. David insists that he wants to see what it’s like one time. When Patrick finally agrees to take him, it’s only on the condition that David cedes complete creative control over the excursion. 

As soon as it becomes Patrick’s project, he attacks it with a vengeance. He insists that David needs an entire sledding uniform and rejects all of David’s existing apparel (even his Rick Owens bomber jacket, left over from a ski trip to the Dolomites that hadn’t involved any skiing). Instead, Patrick takes a profane delight in dressing David from a stockpile of clothing that’s been lurking in a plastic bin in Ray’s basement. David is half-hopeful that some of it won’t fit, but Patrick has a solution for everything.

Case in point: when the snowpants are too short, Patrick says, “You can borrow my gaiters.”

“What the _fuck_ is a gaiter?”

The wool socks, mittens, scarf, and hat are all givens; the balaclava less so.

“And what are you going to wear?” David demands. ”Were you one of those teen boys who galloped around campus barefoot in cargo shorts all winter?” He’d thought better of Patrick than that.

But Patrick has multiple sporty winter accessories and he can wear his _rainpants_, he says.

To complete David’s unfortunate outfit, Patrick sources spare coats and boots from all over Schitt’s Creek the way David sources products for the store. David chooses the ones that fit best and doesn’t ask where they came from; he doesn’t want to think about sharing a clothing size with anyone in this town.

“I can barely put my arms down,” he complains when his ensemble is pieced together. “Like the little boy from that pre-war movie with the tacky lamp.”

“At what point did you see _A Christmas Story_?”

“Stevie forced me to watch it with her.”

“Yet you won’t watch _Home Alone_ with me.” Patrick is trying to torque his grin of delight into a pout; it’s not working very well.

“It was a different, bleaker time,” David says. “Although this wardrobe situation is far from rosy, either.”

It crosses David’s mind a few times that Patrick is right: he probably won’t enjoy sledding. He’ll feel ugly and uncomfortable in these clothes and it will be boring, but he’s done far worse for plenty of past partners. Besides, he’ll get to be there with Patrick, watch him enjoying himself, and perhaps hear a sweet childhood anecdote or two. 

***

Just as Patrick is making his final preparations – borrowing extra sleds and lubing up (“_Waxing,_ David”) his toboggan – the predicted blizzard sweeps through Schitt’s Creek and ushers in the big day.

The sledding hill, it turns out, is Stevie’s old haunt out back of the high school. It’s also… slightly… taller than David imagined.

“So,” he says once they’ve parked the car and begun high-stepping through snowdrifts, dragging their burdens like a team of draft horses. “Um, would we call this a hill? Because it seems more like a – petite mountain from this vantage point.”

Behind him, Patrick chuckles. “I’ve gotten pretty familiar with hiking trails in the area, and Schitt’s Creek doesn’t have much to offer. Very few points more than 300 meters above sea level.”

“Is this one of them?” David asks.

“Not even close. It’ll seem a lot smaller once we’re at the top,” Patrick assures him.

Stevie twists her head around to mouth, “It won’t,” even though Patrick can probably see her from behind David. He glares at her. Just what he wanted to hear – and she would know.

Finally they reach a well-trampled path through the snow and start a slow climb up the back of the hill, winding through snow-dappled evergreen trees. Stevie sets a snail’s pace out in front, so Patrick can’t zoom ahead; instead, he’s practically breathing down David’s neck.

When David stumbles and Patrick walks right into him, David whips around. “Please try not to trample me, thanks!”

Patrick offers him an apologetic smile. “Here,” he says, setting David’s sled on top of his toboggan. Then he takes both ropes in his left hand, reaching for David’s left hand with his right.

“The path’s too narrow,” David points out, already clasping Patrick’s glove in his mitten. The enclosing flex is muscle memory at this point – like an oyster snapping shut to protect its pearl.

“I’ll walk through the deep snow,” Patrick says. “It’ll help me burn off some of this excess energy.” He hops up and down in place, illustratively.

“Oh my god, you’re like a hyperactive toddler!” David takes in his flushed cheeks and bright eyes and wide, mischievous grin. It’s a full meal, all right.

“I’m just_ really_ happy to be outside,” Patrick says. “Believe me, I was worse when I was a kid. I don’t know how my parents survived.”

“They dragged you around the backyard for hours, remember?”

Patrick’s whole face softens in surprise. “Right.”

“Hurry up, losers!” Stevie calls from not-very-far-ahead. They roll their eyes at each other and continue on, swinging their hands between them.

When they reach the top of the hill, David’s first creeping sense of anxiety comes back with a vengeance. The far side is much steeper than what they just climbed: a sheet of white bounded by trees that arcs away from them and sweeps its riders out of view toward the bottom, only to spit them back out several seconds later. It’s also more populated than David expected. Most people are milling around up here at the top, although a cluster of families with small kids is launching their sleds from halfway down the slope.

“C’mon, David” – Patrick tugs at his hand. While he was dithering and peering downwards, Stevie has struck out toward one edge of the hill. David follows them on auto-pilot. He sees with alarm that she’s already dropped her sled and seems liable to climb into it at any moment.

“Are we sure this is the best location?” he asks quickly. 

Stevie raises her eyebrows. “Well, it’s not as crowded over here. Unless you want to be running down third-graders every few feet.”

“But – aren’t we a little close to those trees?”

“That’s why we’ll aim the sleds straight down the hill,” Patrick chips in. “The surface looks pretty even; I don’t think there’s much risk of going off-course.”

“You say that like you think I’m going to be _sailing off _down this hill on my own,” David says, sweeping out his arms for emphasis.

Patrick tosses David’s sled off to the side. “No, I thought we could ride down together on the toboggan first. Give you a chance to adjust to how the other half lives.”

“Ew,” David objects, “can we not bring class issues into this –“

“I meant the 50% of the population that regularly participates in wintertime recreation,” Patrick says innocently. “You know, per the 2016 census.”

“Mmm, I haven’t read that, I didn’t go to business school.”

“No one has ever read the census,” Stevie cuts in, “and I thought we came out here to go sledding?”

“OK, OK,” Patrick says. He positions his toboggan parallel to Stevie’s – precariously close to the hill’s edge – sits down toward the back, and pats the space in front of him. “Hop on, David.”

David hesitates. He might be able to handle it, but not without freaking out on Patrick. He wanted Patrick to have fun today – and selfishly, he wanted to see it. Patrick won’t be able to have fun if David is freaking out on him. David is not about to let his anxiety take over and ruin both of these plans.

“That’s all right,” he says with forced casualness. “I’ll wait up here for now and take in these _stunning_ views, while you two break in the sleds.”

Patrick’s face falls. “Are you sure? It’s kind of chilly to just stand around up here.”

Actually, David’s been sweating under his billions of layers. “I’m fine,” he says. “This isn’t really my thing, remember?”

“I know that,” Patrick says. “I’m still not sure why you wanted to come at all.”

“What’s the point of discussing it? We’re here now,” David protests. He locks eyes with Stevie, willing her to intervene. 

“I can drive you home,” Patrick insists, starting to look frustrated. “If you really –”

Stevie shouts, “Last one down the hill has to change all the motel sheets on February 15th!” and takes a running leap onto her sled, shooting away down the slope.

Patrick swears and skids off after her almost faster than David can process. A spatter of snow hits him from waist to ankles.

“Have fun!” he calls halfheartedly. Then he just stands there, wringing his hands and watching them diminish into the distance.

When the hill spits them back out at the bottom, it’s surprisingly Patrick who’s in the lead. They troop back up the front of the hill in the shadow of the treeline. David girds himself to seem as relaxed and cheerful as possible.

“Not fair,” Stevie declares, as soon as they’re in hearing distance, “that toboggan is overpowered!”

Patrick looks smug. “It’s because David and I rubbed it down with wax,” he says.

“Sounds like you three had a fun, sexy time together,” she says, looking equal parts fascinated and disgusted.

“Good job, honey,” David chirps, hoping it doesn’t sound shrill. He pulls down his balaclava to kiss Patrick on one rosy cheek.

“Thanks.” Patrick smiles at him while walking backward toward the edge of the hill – the daredevil. “But Stevie’s right, it’s not fair – we should switch sleds and do it again.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that, after what I just learned,” Stevie says. But she can’t resist the speed advantage, and off they go.

_This is good,_ David thinks, _I wasn’t ready yet._

He doesn’t feel any more ready when Stevie wins and they go for best two out of three – then best three out of four because, as Patrick explains, the toboggan is objectively faster so someone has to win on an even number. Each time they return, one is swaggering in victory and the other is loudly complaining, but they both look exhilarated.

After the first time, Patrick doesn’t try to persuade David to join them or leave. Instead, he and Stevie harangue him to weigh in on important questions like the true location of the finish line, the legality of contact (e.g. nudging, colliding, and/or shoving) during the race, and whether sliding distance should be given any weight in the scoring algorithm.

In return, David pretends to judge them like they’re Olympic competitors: “Stevie, you practically fell over on the dismount, very sloppy; and Patrick, you were bobbling down the first stretch, that will cost you precious points –” He’s genuinely enjoying himself a little. It doesn’t hurt that Patrick bounds over to David after every run to kiss him through the stupid balaclava and rub his hands up and down David’s arms (which still aren’t cold – but he isn’t complaining).

After six runs, though, Stevie seems fairly over their game and Patrick is groping for a way to declare a winner.

“Wait,” David says, pointing to his own sled. “One of you should take this instead of the toboggan. Then it’ll be a fair race.” And the cushioned toboggan will be comfy to sit on; his legs are getting tired.

Patrick smacks himself in the forehead. “Of course – thank you, David.” He snags the sled and turns to Stevie. “This’ll be the tiebreaker!”

On cue, Stevie takes off down the hill and Patrick races after her, the air ringing with his frustrated laughter. “I’m giving you a three-second penalty!” David hears him shout.

David huddles on the toboggan, wrapping his arms around his knees and trying to dissolve the knot in his stomach. He can’t see Patrick and Stevie from down here, but he’s lost interest anyway. Sledding is decidedly not a spectator sport.

He knows he needs to decide soon: brave the hill and embarrass himself, or go home? At least Patrick’s been having fun so far, he’s pretty sure. Thanks to Stevie, he’s gotten to relive all of those ill-advised sled races with his cousins. He probably won’t be too upset with David, either way.

David frowns to himself, remembering Patrick’s efforts to swathe him in as many warm layers as possible. Patrick is_ invested_ in David’s experience today. At best, he’ll be disappointed if David doesn’t enjoy it – and no matter what he said earlier, he’ll be very annoyed if David asks to leave without explaining why. The only thing to do is to shove down his emotions and brazen his way through the sled ride.

Decided on this, despite the nerves still shooting through him, he stands up and squints to see where Patrick and Stevie have gotten to. They’re both still at the bottom of the hill. Patrick is standing with someone in a familiar fur coat who can only be Ronnie, while Stevie appears to be embroiled in a snowball fight with a group of preteens.

“What the hell,” David mutters. Just then, his eye is caught by a patch of sky-blue fabric partway down the slope. He recognizes it – and sure enough, Patrick’s poor short-sheared head is bare. His toque must have fallen off on the way down.

Considering the federal case that Patrick and Stevie made about not walking through the sled tracks, David isn’t sure how Patrick will retrieve it. Unless…

Yes, he realizes, it’s perfect. He’ll ride the toboggan down the hill and grab Patrick’s hat along the way. Even if he hates it, it won’t be embarrassing, because Patrick won’t see him panic and he won’t have done it just for fun. He’ll have done it for Patrick.

With his heart in his throat, David carefully aims the toboggan straight down the hill and just to the left of the toque. Then he sits down and shoves off before he can second-guess himself.

The wind smacks him punishingly in the face. _Fuck, fuck, FUCK_, he thinks, digging his teeth into his lip and white-knuckling the rope. The world is racing past him in a blur on all sides. The deep, calming breaths that he attempts quickly turn into gasps. He has no earthly idea where the toque is in relation to him, and he couldn’t care less. 

Panic overwhelms him as the toboggan continues to pick up speed. He can’t handle this; he needs to slow down somehow. Still holding the rope, he digs both of his hands into the snow as hard as he can. The toboggan jerks to the left with alarming enthusiasm and no discernible change in speed. Oh god, this isn’t working, he’s just making it worse – he clenches his eyes shut tight and braces for impact.

_Crack! _The sled collides with something, hard. Suddenly everything is upside down and David’s body is carrying them down the hill. _Shouldn’t it be the other way around?_ he thinks, dizzily.

The world is still and dark. He tries to breathe, and can’t; his chest aches hollowly. After a long moment, he lifts his face and gasps in air. It feels like static rushes in with it, filling him from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. His skin is buzzing all over. He keeps breathing, waiting for things to make sense again.

As feeling returns to his body, he blinks rapidly and realizes – he can’t see. The snow is an icy shock against his skin, but his eyes perceive only blackness. Holy _fuck,_ what’s wrong with them? Panicking, he paws at his face with mittened hands. A hot lance of pain shoots through his lower lip when he scrubs across it, driving a high-pitched whimper out of him.

“David!” It’s Patrick’s voice. He whimpers again, his throat too tight to force out any words. What if he hit his head and damaged his vision? Now how will he arrange tasteful displays at the store – 

There’s a rapid crunching of boots, and he feels a weight lifting off of him, then a jerking sensation. Hands are pulling insistently at his shoulders. “David, c’mon, turn over and sit up so I can get you untangled.”

“What?” David croaks out. “Patrick, I can’t see!”

“I can’t understand you with your face in the snow–” Patrick’s voice is so loud. With a yank, David is on his back, his vision still dark. He can feel Patrick touching him, but he can’t _see_ him – can’t look into his wide brown eyes and know if he’s angry or scared, and David’s chest is cracking with pressure –

Patrick’s hands move across his face, and his surroundings come back into view. “Your balaclava got twisted around,” he says. It should be a pure relief, but David’s focus is on Patrick’s face, flushed up to his hairline, and his panting breaths on David’s skin as he peers into David’s eyes. “Are you OK? Where does it hurt?” He urges David to sit upright.

David’s head is spinning, and it’s worse with being pulled around – he pushes Patrick’s hands away. “Wait, wait – slow down, and stop yelling!”

“I’m not yelling, David, just answer me. Are you hurt? Or just upset?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps, his voice cracking. “I’m not upset! You’re the one who’s upset!”

Patrick abruptly leans away from him – fuck, that wasn’t what David wanted at all – and scrubs his hands over his face. His shoulders shudder with a deep inhale. “OK, sorry,” he says. “I’m a little upset.”

Even though it was obvious, hearing it confirmed feels even worse. David doesn’t say anything, and Patrick continues, “It scared me, when you hit that tree –”

“You didn’t see,” David sniffles, “you were talking to Ronnie.”

“I heard you shouting and turned around.”

He doesn’t remember shouting. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I d-don’t want you to be worried about me.”

Patrick smiles ruefully. “That’s not really how it works. Sure you’re OK?”

David nods his head up and down.

“Only, you’re crying pretty hard,” Patrick adds in his gentlest voice. “Can I touch you? Or do you still want your space?”

What David thought he wanted was to be perfectly contained, watching Patrick from on high like a Greek god observing what it means to be human. But David is human, too. He reaches for Patrick, and Patrick gathers him in.

After a little while, David says, “I wanted today to be perfect for you.”

“Hmm,” Patrick says, rubbing slow circles on his back.

“When you talked about your family and – going sledding with your cousins, you sounded so happy. I wanted you to feel like that again.” He cringes inside; that didn’t explain anything. He burrows his face further into Patrick’s shoulder, ignoring his throbbing lip. “But I guess I also sort of – wanted to know what it was like.”

“I see,” Patrick says softly. “You wanted to know what it was like to haul a toboggan up a hill, and have snow shoved down your coat, and ride your sled standing up like a surfboard till you fall and knock your front teeth out?”

“You said they were baby teeth,” David protests.

Patrick’s laughter rumbles against his chest. “I don’t need to relive my childhood, David. If you honestly want to be here with me, then I want you here. And hey – for once, I’ll be the one showing you something new.”

David pulls back so he can see Patrick try to wink and waggle his eyebrows – pretending to forget all of the new and precious things he’s already shown David.

When Patrick stands, David takes his outstretched hand and staggers to his feet, his muscles all clamoring to remind him of their recent tenderization. He winces with his whole mouth, then exclaims “Ow, fuck!”

“You said weren’t hurt!” Patrick says.

“I forgot! My lip –” When he tugs at the balaclava, the fabric peels away stickily from his chin area. “God, that felt disgusting. Is it bleeding again?”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick frowns. “How about you wait here on the toboggan. I’ll grab a bandage from the car, and then we can try this sledding thing again.”

Stevie, who’s been watching them warily from a safe distance, comes to sit beside him while Patrick is gone. “That looked dramatic,” she comments.

“OK, _you_ definitely didn’t see anything. You were throwing snowballs!”

“A lot of people saw,” she says, nudging their shoulders together. “Maybe they didn’t know it was you, though. Because of the balaclava.”

He chooses to ignore her sarcasm. “Unfortunately, I doubt it. Celebrity disguises aren’t effective in a town this small.” (And the cat’s definitely out of the bag now that said balaclava is balled up in his fist and pressed against his lip.)

When Patrick jogs up to them, he’s clutching a large thermos and looking worried all over again. “My first aid kit was out of bandages,” he says.

“Actually, I might –” Stevie rummages through her pockets. Out comes a bunch of loose change, a toothpick, a dusty plastic bag, what looks like a condom wrapper, “Hold on –“ more coins, clumps of lint, a green Army man, a shower of crumbs, “ – Gotcha!” Triumphant, she holds out a crumpled-up bandage.

David takes it gingerly, but it’s sealed in its wrapper and sticks on okay despite the awkward location. Even better, the hot mulled cider that Patrick brought back (originally meant to be a post-sledding surprise) does wonders for David’s blood sugar levels. Stevie keeps the thermos and declares that she’ll wait for them here at the bottom.

When they’ve trekked back up the hill – which feels a bit like adding insult to injury – Patrick plants the toboggan at the edge of the slope. “We have a big decision to make,” he announces. “Do you want to sit in front, or in back?”

“What’s the difference?”

“It’ll be easier for me to steer us from the back,” Patrick says, “but you’d be more sheltered from the wind behind me. And you could hide your face in my shoulder if you get scared,” he adds with a teasing grin.

Honestly that sounds nice, but – “I’ve learned today that steering the sled is very important,” David says. “So we should probably prioritize that.”

“That sounds very sensible of us,” Patrick agrees. “Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll get on after you.”

David sits down on the middle of the sled, grinding his heels firmly into the snow on either side. (No way is he going anywhere without Patrick this time.)

Patrick climbs on behind him and snugs himself up to David’s back, his thighs cradling David’s hips. It might be sexy if there weren’t six or more layers of fabric between them. He tucks his feet up into the sled, under David’s knees, and rests his chin on David’s shoulder.

“This is nice,” David says, attempting a little shimmy to distract Patrick from the quake in his voice. Patrick breathes “Mmm,” in his ear and squeezes his thighs even tighter around David’s hips. They chose the right configuration, he thinks; feeling Patrick all over him is grounding and pleasantly distracting at the same time.

“Now, grab the rope so that it doesn’t drag under the sled,” Patrick instructs, and David obliges.

After a moment, he says, “What next?”

“Well, David,” Patrick says, “you’re gonna need to put your feet in the sled before we can go anywhere.”

“O-okay.” He doesn’t move.

“Something wrong?”

Fuck it, he can’t hold it in anymore. “Patrick, I’m scared,” he bursts out. “I know it’s ridiculous, and the hill isn’t even that tall, but after I just crashed – well, but also, I hurt my lip because I was biting it when I went down the first time. Because I was scared then, too.”

David feels Patrick’s nose in his neck and knows that he’s pressing his lips there, through his jacket. “I kind of pieced that together from the way your entire body is tensed up and your teeth are chattering,” he says. ”You’re 100% sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” David says, making his voice firm because he’s decided. He feels slightly better admitting his fear, at least.

“Then I have an idea. You know how screaming on a roller coaster can make you feel less scared?”

“I’ve never been on a roller coaster, but sure.”

“Huh,” Patrick says. “Well, we don’t want to frighten people, but singing really loudly can work the same way. And in the spirit of this fun, folksy activity–”

“Never say ‘folksy’ again –”

“– the song that I’m thinking of is family-friendly, as well as motivational.” Patrick leans in close and whispers it in his ear.

“Patrick, _no_,” David exclaims – but he lifts up his heels at last. Patrick pushes them off as gently as possible and wraps his arms around David as they go sliding down the hill, and David’s nerves come whooshing out in bursts of horrified laughter as Patrick hollers: “OK! BLUE JAYS! LET’S! PLAY! BALL!”

He even grabs his toque on the way down.

***

That night, they collapse into Patrick’s bed together, exhausted from the day. David takes his book off the nightstand and settles in to read.

After only a few minutes, his eyelids are drooping. He decides to close them just for a minute, idly registering Patrick’s little shifts and sighs beside him.

The click of the bedside lamp is startling; Patrick usually stays up reading for a while after David dozes off. “Scoot down the bed a little,” Patrick whispers.

David opens his eyes just enough to narrow them at Patrick. “Whatever you’re plotting,” he warns, “my spirit is willing but my flesh has never been weaker.” But when Patrick tugs at his arm wordlessly, David scoots.

Patrick pulls the comforter over their heads and burrows deep into David’s arms. Their heads are right next to each other on the pillow. Patrick’s bare skin radiates heat through David’s t-shirt; it feels bone-deep satisfying to rediscover it after being kept apart by layers of fabric all day.

After a minute, Patrick clears his throat. “Every Christmas, when school let out, we’d stay the whole week with my grandparents. They had this gigantic old wooden bed in the spare room at the end of the hall. My cousins and I would hide under the covers, pretending to be asleep and talking about all the presents we’d asked for and what we would do with them.” 

“Oh,” David says, stunned. “Um… why did you pretend to be sleeping?”

“We weren’t allowed to stay up past nine. I’m sure our parents knew, but we never got in trouble. It was a special occasion, you know?”

David doesn’t know; he never had a bedtime. When he was seven, he fell asleep watching _The Little Mermaid_ on the TV in his bedroom every night.

“They lived at the end of a dirt road,” Patrick continues in a whisper, “at the bottom of a hill. Taller than the one today, but not as steep. The year I got my toboggan, we spent hours running up that hill and sliding back down it. Once in a while, my uncle dragged us inside to warm up and drink hot chocolate, but we snuck out again before long.”

“Did the hot chocolate have marshmallows?” David asks, desperate to keep Patrick talking.

“Oh, always.” David can hear his smile.

They spend a honeyed stretch of time like that, wrapped up in blankets and each other, with Patrick murmuring tales of winters past into David’s ear. It’s so much more than he’d expected, the details mundane and so foreign that he sometimes doesn’t know how to respond. He can only breathe, “Yeah?” Somehow, miraculously, that’s enough to keep Patrick talking. Each word makes David’s whole body feel light and suffused with warmth, like he might be emitting a soft glow into the close, dim space around them. He and Patrick are floating upward together, and it’s not frightening at all.

Eventually, Patrick’s voice fades into sleep and David follows him down. The next morning, when Patrick hands David his coffee and tells him, “Thanks for wanting to listen,” David beams helplessly into his mug. He doesn’t even worry about giving anything away. Patrick can have it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the prompt, anon! I hope you find something to enjoy in here :) And apologies for the title; I couldn't resist.
> 
> This is my first-ever work of fanfiction, and the first fictional story I've written in many years. Comments are loved and cherished, but please be kind!
> 
> ETA: Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave a comment or kudos on this work. You were all indeed very kind, and I can't possibly overstate how much each one meant to me! If you're on Tumblr, please feel free to hit me up - I'm also sunlightsymphony over there, and I'd love to connect with more of the wonderful people in this fandom. :)


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